With a great outcry of chagrin, the Mallorean charge faltered. Then the red-clad figures far below turned and desperately ran back toward the desert to protect their precious water supply. But it was too late. With brutal efficiency, the Murgo cavalry had already axed open every barrel and cask and was riding back the way they had come with triumphant jeers.
The Murgos, whose feigned retreat had drawn the Mallorean troops into their fatal charge, ran back down the ridges to resume their former positions. From their vantage points above the now-demoralized Malloreans, they sent great sheets of arrows arching up into the morning sky to rain down upon their enemies. In the midst of that deadly rain, the Malloreans desperately tried to salvage what little water was left in the bottoms of their shattered barrels, but their losses from the arrow storm soon grew unacceptable. The men in red tunics broke and ran out into the waiting desert, leaving their wagons behind.
"That's a brutal way to make war," Silk said.
"The battle's pretty much over then, isn't it?" Garion said as the black-robed Murgos moved down into the ravines to butcher the wounded.
"Oh, yes," Silk replied, sounding almost sick. "The fighting's all done. The dying isn't, though."
"Maybe the ones who are left can make it back across the desert."
"Not a chance."
"All right, then," a lean man in a black robe said, stepping out from behind a nearby rocky outcrop with a half-drawn bow in his hands. "Now that you've seen it all, why don't we go back down to your camp and join the others?"
CHAPTER TEN
Silk rose to his feet slowly, keeping both hands in plain sight. "You're very quiet on your feet, friend," he observed."I'm trained to be so," the man with the bow replied. "Move. Your friends are waiting."
Silk gave Garion a quick warning look.—Let's go along until we can size up the situation—His fingers cautioned.— I'm sure this one isn't alone.—
They turned and slid down the bank to the floor of the ravine, with the stranger following watchfully behind them, his bow at the ready. At the upper end of the gully where they had pitched their tents the previous night, a score of black-robed men armed with bows guarded the others. They all had the scarred cheeks and angular eyes of Murgos, but there were certain subtle differences. The Murgos Garion had seen before had always been heavy-shouldered, and their stance had been marked by a stiff arrogance. These men were leaner, and their bearing was at once wary and peculiarly relaxed.
"You see, noble Tajak," Sadi said obsequiously to the lean-faced man who seemed to be in charge, "it is exactly as I told you. I have only these two other servants."
"We know your numbers, slaver," the lean-faced man replied in a harshly accented voice. "We've been watching you since you entered Cthol Murgos."
"We made no effort to hide," Sadi protested mildly. "The only reason we remained concealed here was to avoid becoming involved in that unpleasantness down at the edge of the desert." He paused. "One is curious, however, to know why the noble Dagashi would choose to concern themselves with the activities of a party of Nyissan slavers. Surely we are not the first to come this way."
Tajak ignored that, looking carefully at Garion and his friends with his slate-hard black eyes. "What's your name, slaver?" he asked Sadi finally.
"I am Ussa of Sthiss Tor, good master, a duly registered slave trader. I have all the proper documents, if you'd care to examine them."
"How is it that none of your servants are Nyissan?"
Sadi spread his hands innocently. "The war here in the south makes most of my countrymen a bit reluctant to venture into Cthol Murgos just now," he explained, "so I was forced to hire foreign adventurers instead."
"Perhaps," the Dagashi said in a flat, unemotional voice. He gave Sadi a penetrating look. "Are you interested in money, Ussa of Sthiss Tor?" he asked suddenly.
Sadi's dead eyes brightened, and he rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Well, now," he said, "why don't we talk about that? Just exactly how may I serve you? And how much would you be willing to pay me?"
"You will need to discuss that with my master," Tajak replied. "My orders were to find a party of slavers and tell them that I could put them in touch with someone who could see that they were well-paid for a fairly minor service. Are you interested in such a proposition?"
Sadi hesitated, glancing surreptitiously at Belgarath for some kind of instruction.
"Well?" Tajak said impatiently. "Are you interested?"
"Of course," Sadi answered carefully. "Who is your master, Tajak? Just who is this benefactor who wants to make me rich?"
"He will tell you his name and what you must do for him when you meet him—at Kahsha."
"Kahsha?" Sadi exclaimed. "You didn't say that I'd have to go there."
"There are many things I didn't say. Well? Do you agree to go with us to Kahsha?"
"Do I have any choice?"
"No."
Sadi spread his arms helplessly.
—What's Kahsha—Garion's fingers asked Silk.
—The headquarters of the Dagashi. It's got an unsavory reputation.—
"All right," Tajak said decisively, "let's break down these tents and get ready to leave. It's many hours to Kahsha, and mid afternoon is not a good time to be out in the desert."
The sun was well up when they rode out of the mouth of the ravine with Tajak's Dagashi formed up watchfully around them. Out in the wasteland, the defeated Malloreans had begun their hopeless trek.
"Will they not attempt to use your wells, noble Tajak?" Sadi asked.
"Probably—but they won't be able to find them. We cover our wells with piles of rock, and all piles of rock in the desert look the same."
There were Murgo troops at the base of the foothills, watching the dispirited retreat of the Malloreans. As Tajak approached them, he made a quick, imperious gesture to them, and they grudgingly stood aside.
As they rode through a narrow defile that opened out into the desert, Garion took the opportunity to pull his horse in beside Belgarath's. "Grandfather," he whispered urgently, "what should we do?"
"We wait and see what this is all about," the old man replied. "Let's not do anything to give away our disguise— not yet, anyway."
As they rode out into the furnace heat of the desert, Sadi looked back at the Murgo soldiers lining the tops of the last low line of hills. "Your countrymen are most accommodating," he said to Tajak. "I'm surprised, though, that they didn't stop us to ask one or two questions."